


Perfection

by MyrJuhl



Category: American Psycho (2000)
Genre: 1980's yuppie land, M/M, Not A Nice Story, Obsession, nobody gets axed but somebody gets speared... bad pun... sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-11
Updated: 2014-12-11
Packaged: 2018-03-01 01:39:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2754809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyrJuhl/pseuds/MyrJuhl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At first, Patrick Bateman was annoyed about Paul Allen's perfection, but then he realised he could do something about it to make his perfection go away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Perfection

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: The events never happened. This fic is for entertainment purposes only, not profit. I, the author, make no claim through this work as to the fictional characters/ actual lives/ preferences/ activities of the people mentioned herein.  
> Beta: Bee_ta_baby

 

.

´|`*´|`*´|`*´|`*´|`*´|`*´|`*´|`*´|`*´|`*´|`*´|`*´|`

.

 

Patrick Bateman passed Paul Allen’s office. The blond was laughing into his phone. Taking a few steps back, he realised he’d done it to study Paul’s lips. How odd, but there was an exquisite quality to the pink colour he would normally not pay attention to on a man. The subtle bow of the upper lip as it stretched over small white teeth when he smiled, which the blond did a lot.

Noticing Marcus, Paul waved; and before Patrick could respond, Paul was engrossed back in his conversation. Patrick looked down, puzzled, he realised that he’d half-lifted his hand to reciprocate. Looking up, he saw that Paul had turned his swivel chair and he could no longer see his face; only the casual hold of his glasses, dangling from his fingers. 

Patrick narrowed his eyes, zooming in on the fingers. Slim and elegant... _Too many details..._ he thought but knew he’d filed them anyways. Wondering the rest of the day what possessed him into studying Paul, turned out to be more than this single incident.

The next few days, Patrick found that he spent a great deal of time studying Paul; even talking to him despite the man constantly mistook him for Marcus Halberstran. He didn’t correct him in his mistake, he always thought Paul too insignificant to make him aware of the inaccuracy. Now, he had become used to it. It would seem even more odd to tell Paul that he had let him call him Marcus for six months. Patrick had resented how perfect the man was right down to his choice of business card, how much money he grossed for the firm. A perfect jewel. 

Rationally, he knew the attraction was jealousy with a serious sexual hinge, and he would pursue Paul Allen. However, the advances would probably not be received very well. Obviously, Paul was not inclined to having sex with his own gender. As a result, the man didn’t pick up the signals Patrick sent out.

Wanting him with a passion by now, Patrick accepted an invitation for a squash match the upcoming Wednesday for no particular reason other than stealing glances at Paul during the game and in the shower afterwards. And as always, he noticed every single detail about him. His fetching violet-blue eyes, the almost unnatural, long, thick, black lashes adorning said eyes. His slim built, yet nicely muscles torso, small feet, and gorgeous narrow ass with nice round curves. 

What he took in first was Paul’s creamy skin tone. The man was startling in his skin colour. Patrick realised that Paul didn’t have that white tan line of trunks the rest of them had. Later, he told him, he had his own tanning bed at home. Of course, he had. The man was perfect.

Paul’s legs were worth a wet dream alone, slender and well shaped, and then there was of course – his cock. Again... perfection. His circumcised dick hung between those lean, creamy thighs. Sparse hair trimmed nicely but still left a bit of curls to acknowledge he was a man and not smooth as a woman. Details that pleased Patrick to no end.

When Paul bent to pick up his towel from the floor, Patrick smiled. The last fortress: Paul’s asshole. _I’m gonna get you. I’m gonna fuck that hole eventually, and there’s nothing you can do about it,_ he promised Paul silently.

Finally, they were both dressed, and Patrick asked the man if he wanted to have dinner. Paul nodded, looking delighted.

“I’m hungry, it would be nice thanks.”

“Let’s go!” Patrick held the door for him, but Paul didn’t seem to notice, he just talked non-stop about the match. Patrick couldn’t care less about the match; he had been busy observing how sweaty the man’s hair became, how it twisted around his face, how flushed his skin became, the slickness. Tiny beads of sweat gathering on his brow, cheeks, nose, and upper lip. Patrick had used all of his self-control not to get hard, as it would have been rather obvious.

Driving Paul to the restaurant, Patrick kept his own speech at a minimum. Paul didn’t seem to notice that either. He was talking about a leak within the firm. It had been in the financial newspapers and was a rather embarrassing issue. Nobody really knew who it could be, and Paul was clearly appalled.

An idea formed in Patrick’s mind. A cruel one, but anything less would be pointless. He began encouraging Paul to talk about it, and it seemed obvious the man had his own ideas about who it could be, but he wouldn’t reveal his suspicion. Patrick however, did know who leaked the information that had made waves on the stock market.

During dinner, the men turned to more pleasant topics and Patrick felt relaxed and entertained. Paul was rather fetching once he stopped bitching about the choice of restaurant. His eyes had a way of concentrating on the person he spoke to; it was a rare gift. Patrick soon realised how shallow the rest of the snobs at work were and that Paul seemed the one who was in a unique touch with what went on at the market. It was simply too perfect.

*

The following Wednesday, Patrick needed to set his plan to work. He could hardly disguise how his eyes always wondered in Paul’s direction. The blond was a walking tease and Patrick felt he needed to teach him a lesson. Preparing for the dirty trick, he then entered Paul's office later, when the blond was in the middle of a phone call. 

Closing the door and locking it, Patrick began to do the shutters, blocking the view to the other offices. 

Paul stopped talking. “Hang on a second Mr Fischer... what are you doing, Marcus?”

Patrick ignored Paul's usual mistaking him from Halberstran. “Oh, I'm sure you don't want witnesses to this conversation.”

Paul was perfect, which was why they couldn’t be friends, because Patrick saw himself as the most perfect of them all - only rivalled by Paul.

“I-I'll call you back later,” Paul said, staring at Marcus who had a little ironic smile on his face, revelling in being in control of his devious game.

“Rumour has it that the information we talked about on Micro Tech Inc. came from this firm.” 

“Yes I know.” Paul smiled and pointed at him, “We talked about it.”

Patrick smiled wider. “I think it leaked from this office.”

Paul looked blank a few seconds not really comprehending the statement. Then his eyes widened. “What? That is absurd! You know I didn't! As a matter a fact, I think you should go check on Patrick Bateman. He’s the type who has the connections and might have done this.”

Patrick nodded amused, “Oh really?” He got the reaction he wanted, now on with it. 

“Really. He’s so unbelievably stupid. I'm not even close to the account. I’m not doing computer companies. I am...”

“All I have to do - is push the button on my computer and everybody gets a mail pointing at you.”

Sheer shock was written all over Paul's handsome face. A panic attack seemed to be on the verge of happening and that would be a waste of time.

“But there is something you could do to prevent this... Paul,” he emphasized.

“Why are you blackmailing me?” Paul whispered, “I thought we were...”

“Friends?” Patrick laughed at Paul's mistake and the blond man looked like the sound of it cut deeper.

“No, we are not friends. I don't have any friends. Albeit, you have something I want, and I am collecting now. Stand up, Paul!”

Slowly, Paul did as he was told. He started sweating and his legs were suddenly weak, shaky.

Patrick began unfastening his shirt, making Paul stand back in surprise. 

“Uh uh!” Patrick’s eyebrows lifted in warning.

Paul swallowed. “This? This is what you want? Does Cecilia know about this?”

Cecilia was Marcus’ girlfriend, so Patrick grinned and could safely say what ever he wanted, “Yes she does, and now I want to nail your ass.”

“You could just have asked!” Paul said incredulously.

“Yeah, right, and you would have agreed to it?”

“I won't know now, will I?”

“Anyway, this is much more fun...”

“Fun!?” Paul exclaimed.

Patrick didn't answer and soon, Paul's smooth chest was revealed. “How convenient we are such tidy creatures,” he said, looking at Paul's neat desk. “On your back.”

Paul knew what he meant. What else would Marcus be talking about? He had no choice but to obey. The alternative would destroy him. Pushing himself on the desk, he lay down as commanded.

Soon Marcus had divested him of his nether garments, shoes and socks; his legs were bent against his chest, and before Paul knew it, he detected wetness and a weird sensation around his hole. Lifting his head, he saw the man's tongue busy licking him. 

“What... are you... _Christ, Marcus!_?”

Patrick ignored him and pushed his tongue inside him.

“Jesus...” Paul tried to keep his voice down; he wasn't prepared for this to actually feel good. Biting into his hand, he tried to keep it at least to a whimper. Grabbing the edge of the desk, Paul tried to hang on, but Marcus’ tempo was mind blowing. Suddenly it all stopped. 

Swallowing, Paul tried to catch his breath, when it all started again. Something hard was inserted and once again, he lifted his head to see what Marcus was doing to him. It was his fingers - two of them and they twisted until...

“Ooh!” he cried, gutted because everybody must have heard that.

Patrick gave him his CK’s to bite and he managed to muffle his moans into those. Marcus touched something that shot instant pleasure over his lower body, nipples, stomach, and legs - he felt electrified with pleasure and sensation. He pushed back against the fingers and when that stopped too, and he could hardly take anymore; it was so depraved.

Then once more, something hard was inserted and opening his eyes, Paul could tell right away it was Marcus’ cock. It wasn’t a surprise really.

“Don't worry I am clean.”

“I’m not worried about you being clean, but what makes you think I am?” Paul asked.

Patrick’s eyes didn't show any concern. “Don’t be absurd. You’re perfect. Now quiet. Let’s fuck,” and with those words, Patrick set into motion. With a grin, Patrick snatched Paul’s CK’s, and his victim’s frustration was evident.

“Please!” he gasped, but Patrick's face was immobile as he pound into him, threatening the PC screen to fall from the desk.

Choked whimpers mixed with yelps of pain and pleasure escaped Paul's mouth. Patrick savoured them all, eventually covering his mouth, taking everything he could draw from the man except his orgasm. As he neared his own release, Patrick grew longer, wider and Paul thrashed helplessly under him.

Coming, the violator grunted into the blond’s mouth, and cruelly, Patrick retreated; cock still dripping.

Paul, who teetered on the edge of climax too, gasped, and then he came; shuddering as his legs fell to each side and gravity took care of the rest, letting him slide down from the desk and fall onto the floor. Patrick looked at the man, who confused tried to figure out where he landed and how much damage that created.

“See you in a few days,” Patrick said, zipping his pants. “I'm not done collecting.”

“Idiot,” Paul said, “You probably just caused me a concussion. What were you thinking doing this to me?”

Patrick pretended not to hear him. “You had better be here, Paul,” he said.

“Right, right,” Paul snorted sarcastically. “You know, Marcus - I couldn’t even dress myself right now even if you pointed a gun to my head.” Then he groaned as a wave of nausea washed over him. 

Patrick saw it too. _Fuck..._ Paul probably did have a concussion and looked green in the face right now.

The room was spinning and Paul felt Marcus began to clean up his release. “Don't touch me.”

Patrick ignored him and began dressing him. When he found Paul’s keys in his jacket, Patrick made a decision and grabbed Paul’s arm. “Come.”

Pulling along the confused man, Patrick smiled apologetically at the man’s secretary. “He’s not feeling well. I’m taking him home.”

The woman got up. “Hey? What happened in there?”

Patrick ignored her and quickly, he arranged Paul in his car. 

Driving them to Paul’s building, Patrick went upstairs to put him in his bed. Checking out the place, he was instantly taken aback. Paul’s flat of course was much more expensive – and his taste was surprisingly homey, welcoming, personal, but still impeccable like the rest of him.

Unlike himself, Paul did have a lot of personal items. In his dressing room, he found a little red sports car on the top desk of the socks and underwear dresser. Paul’s car wasn’t red. “Hmmm... childhood toys, I wonder?” Patrick mused and picked up the car. Patrick didn’t have any knick-knacks to remind him of his past. He failed to see the appeal and put the car back.

Returning to the bedroom, Patrick took one look at Paul’s quiet demeanour and he undressed meticulously.

Looking at what Marcus was doing, Paul groaned softly, “No... don’t.” But soon, he was under his colleague again. Fucked into the mattress, and gasping in forced pleasure. The man kept Paul in his bed for three days in a row, subjecting him to a varied range of sexual perversities and succeeded in exhausting Paul to a near chronic nauseous migraine. 

When he was finally freed from Marcus’ sick, possessive grasp, Paul realised he had no choice but leaving the firm, leaving the city and get as far away from Marcus Halberstran as possible – just as soon as the concussion and his abused body were healed.

*

A few days later, when Patrick heard of Paul Allen’s sudden resignation through his colleagues, he had the perfect regrettably facial expression ready. What a loss to the company; one of their best account caretakers.

“Health issues?” he asked.

“Apparently, it would seem he suffers from a chronic illness he couldn’t keep at bay any longer. Who would have known? The man handled the ‘Fischer Account’ for Christ sakes! I always thought he was perfect...”

“Yeah... so did I,” Patrick said.

 

*

 

End of Tale February the 7th 2006


End file.
